Susie

A gentle maid, a dove-like soul,
An eye that knows no ill;
I met her from her rural walk,
Upon yon grassy hill.

Her apron filled with early flowers,
And some were lightly bound
Into a wreath that sweetly lay
Her snowy temples round.

And as I met her on that hill,
At twilight’s magic hour,
My spirit felt her loveliness
And own’d her magic power.

And since our meeting on that hill,
I still have fondly thought,
Of what a store of pleasant dreams,
That eve to me hath brought.